


The Deluge

by Goshdarnit



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action, Death, Gen, It's tagged Skyrim but some parts happen in Cyrodiil, Loss of Parent(s), Politics, Skyrim Civil War, The main character isn't the Dragonborn, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2020-12-12 05:17:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20992430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goshdarnit/pseuds/Goshdarnit
Summary: Baldor Andsnes, child of the veterans of a terrible war, loses his entire family in a bandit attack.Marius, bastard son of a general and a minor noble, swears that he will avenge the death of his mother.Ulfric Stormcloak, recently-crowned Jarl of Windhelm, declares that his home will be free from the shackles of its oppressors.These three men's actions will shape the future of Skyrim forever.





	1. Prologue: Casus belli

It is the 18th of Midyear in the 175th year of the Fourth Era. The Great War has just ended. However, little joy is to be found in Winterhold, the former capital of Skyrim now reduced to a small group of houses surrounding the infamous College of Winterhold. The city, if it can even still be called a city, had been in shambles for 170 years. Though the settlement's citizens gathered at The Frozen Hearth Inn in order to celebrate the end of the War, the festivities were muted. Men drank and women sang, but everyone knew that once the party was over, they had to continue living their grim lives in the biting cold of Winterhold.

Amongst the crowd, Kraldar gossips with Thonjolf, a man ten years his senior.

"What news do you have for me today Thonjolf?"

"I'm afraid there's not much to say. The Emperor has just made peace with the Elves, but in return, the worship of Talos is to be banned."

"That won't sit well with our countrymen at all. Moving on, is there anything interesting happening in our village?”

"Have you heard? Haakon's new missus is in labor."

"Haakon? The legionnaire?"

"Exactly. Anyway, it won't be long until there will be another mouth to feed in town."

A baby's cries pierce through the night. Baldor Andsnes is born in a shack on the outskirts of Winterhold.

The locals did not know what to make of this new arrival. As Thonjolf said, the newborn baby really was another mouth to feed in a town which never seemed to have enough. Luckily for the townsfolk, the Andsnes were planning to eventually move to Cyrodiil in order to meet with Jonna, a General of the Imperial Legion who Haakon served under. After that, they planned to buy a house and live there. As the saying goes: "Anywhere but Winterhold".

For six years, the Andsnes family worked hard in order to save enough money for the journey south.

In the year 181, the family packed up their belongings and headed down the road to the Imperial Province.

"Brunn, my wife, we have arrived at the Pale Pass. After this, it'll only be less than a day's journey to Bruma."

"That makes me glad. Little Baldor here can finally lie down on an actual bed again."

"I don't really mind being out here Ma. I looooove the fresh air!" the child responded. Baldor, now 6 years old, was an active child. He was capable of running for hours without rest. Since there wasn't much to do in Winterhold, his newfound freedom on the road, and the prospects of a bigger city, delighted him to no end.

Unluckily for the Andsnes however, the bandits of Pale Pass set their greedy eyes on the family.

An arrow whistled through the air, hitting the family's horse in the neck. The animal, frightened and hurt, reared on its hind legs, only to be killed when two more arrows pierce its head.

"Baldor stay behind me!" shouted Haakon, the family patriarch.

He ran for his shield, emblazoned with the Imperial Dragon, and unsheathed his sword. Brunn, sensing another brigand, put up a ward in front of her, blocking another arrow.

Then their surroundings came to life. More than 20 bandits, mostly Nords and Imperials, though there was the occasional Orc or Khajiit, charged at the family.

Haakon blocked the strike of one bandit and drove his sword into another's chest. Bashing the head in of another highwayman, he expertly fought against the brigands. Brunn on the other hand, shot lightning from her fingers, frying three bandits. However, fearing for their child's safety, Haakon ordered Brunn to start running with him.

"Brunn my love, I'm going to have to ask you to go. Take Baldor south to Bruma."

"Haakon, you know I cannot do that."

"But you must. Baldor must live even if it means that we will die."

Brunn teared up, but, with resolve in her eyes, ran away with Baldor.

Upon their departure, Haakon knew that he had to stall the bandits for as long as possible. He slashed in an arc in front of him, prompting the bandits to step back. Immediately, he leapt toward them, and tackled one to the ground. Caught off balance, two bandits were easily dispatched by Haakon, who then killed the one he took down. Alas, his efforts were not enough. An arrow flew right into the shoulder of Haakon. At the same time, a bandit with a warhammer smashed his shield, breaking the arm behind it. In great pain and with only one functional arm, the bandits saw their opportunity and attacked him. They slashed and stabbed at him, but he still would not die. With his sword, he killed four more bandits, until the bandit chief brought his greatsword down on Haakon, splitting his chest open.

Brunn, seeing her husband die, knew that the bandits would catch up to them. As such, she decided to stay behind.

"Baldor, I need you to run away."

"But Ma I can't! Th-they just killed Papa!"

"It is exactly because of that that I need you to run! Go! I will buy you time."

"But Ma-"

"Baldor run!" she shouted.

And he ran.

"I love you my son." Brunn whispered as he turned away.

Seeing the mass of bandits heading towards her, she summoned a Frost Atronach, which then swung its arm at an unfortunate bandit, knocking his head right off. It then proceeded to pummel any individual which approached, not being damaged by the iron and steel of the brigands. Knowing that killing the conjurer would banish the atronach, the bandit chief charged at Brunn, who was unable to dodge his attack in time. He drove his sword right through her abdomen, killing her instantly.

Throughout all of this, Baldor kept on running. He ran. And ran. Until at one point, he couldn't run anymore.

His legs gave up and he fell to the ground, lungs burning from exhaustion. Hearing hoofbeats behind him, he covered his head with his hands, thinking that the bandits have finally caught up.

"Hello there, kid. Are you lost?" asked a woman with a quiet voice. "There's no reason for you to be on the road to Bruma alone. There are bandits about."

Baldor said nothing, for he had lost consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> This is the very first time I am writing a fic. As in I have 0 experience.
> 
> As you can tell from the chapter title, this is only the prologue of a story which I hope I will be working on for a very long time.
> 
> Please try to leave constructive criticism in the comments, and feel free to ask questions as to where the story will be going!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!


	2. The North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baldor wakes up in an unfamiliar room. The son of a Third War general befriends an unexpected guest. Ulfric Stormcloak greets a mourning city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a month since I published the prologue, but here it is! The first actual chapter! I am sorry for the delay!

Baldor’s eyes fluttered open. He did not recognize the room he was in. Thinking that the bandits abducted him, he panicked. 

“Help! Somebody please help!” he shouted.

Immediately, he heard footsteps beyond the door of the room. Hearing them get closer, he hid underneath his blanket. He stayed as still as possible, even as the door to the room opened.

“Hey kid. You’re awake. Get up, it’s time for breakfast.” a gruff, female voice said.

“Is th-this a trap? Why would a bandit offer me breakfast?” Baldor asked.

“Bandit? Me? Tell me kid, would a bandit give you a nice, warm bed to lie down on?"

“And why should I believe you?”

“Damn I should have just let you freeze to death in the snow instead of bringing you to Bruma if you’re going to be this difficult.” the woman sighed.

“Wait, Bruma? This is where my parents and I wanted to go. They were fighting bandits when we were on the way here so they told me to run. They're… dead now."

“Oh," the woman started, not knowing how to comfort people, "I'm sorry for your loss kid. May I know their names? I'm not a prayerful woman, but I'll keep them in mind the next time I visit the cathedral."

“Haakon and Brunn.” he replied.

The woman's eyes widened in surprise. “Haakon and Brunn? You're an Andsnes?"

"Yes I am," the child nodded, "you've heard of my family?"

"No wonder you looked so familiar. You’ve got good blood flowing through your veins kid. Your father was my lieutenant during the War.” She looked down. "I can't believe they're dead now. Your parents were fine people. I couldn't have asked for a better second-in-command than Haakon."

“Second-in-command? That could only mean that you’re-"

“Jonna, Commander of the Nordic Legions of the Empire. Your parents told you about me?”

“Yes! My father talked about your exploits in the War. How you led your troops in the Battle of the Red Ring Road. How you marched across the Niben and beat back the Dominion forces trying to get to the Imperial City. You're that General Jonna?”

“I’m afraid I am,” she sighed.

“Then you must tell me more stories about the Great War!”

“There was nothing ‘great’ about the War kid. Folks fought and died for nothing. I fought and bled on the banks of the Rumare, saw my countrymen and the Elves dying in scores around me. But for what? We lost the war. The Empire is in a worse state than it was before; Hammerfell is gone, our hold on High Rock is weakening, and the Nords of Skyrim are seething. Fighting got us nowhere. The only thing 'great' about that war was that it ended," Jonna snapped.

Silence filled the room. Baldor was twiddling his fingers, taken aback by the older woman's outburst.

Jonna looked at the child, feeling embarrassed. "Hey look kid, I'm sorry I snapped. War is nothing to celebrate nor be happy about."

"Please teach me how to fight General."

"Didn't I just tell you that fighting will get you nowhere? I've seen thousands of Nords 'live the Nordic lifestyle' and have nothing to show for it except their corpses."

"It may have gotten you nowhere, but it might get me somewhere," the boy looked down, "and what else can I do?"

The veteran looked at the boy incredulously. Memories of the war with the Dominion rushed into her mind: the clashing of steel, the screams of the dying, the blood of the fallen, the putrid smell of death. Each and every kill is etched onto her brain, the sounds they made as they died, the way their bodies felt as she trampled them underfoot.

Her eyes focused on the boy.

"How old are you?" she asked.

"I'm six. I was born on the 23rd of Midyear, 175."

"_ Six? _ " she thought. " _ He's only six and he's been through so much. Any kid his age would be crying their eyes out. But look at him, wanting to learn how to fight _."

"You know what? Alright. Let's go outside once you've gotten something to eat, see if you're any good with a weapon," she sighed.

His eyes lit up. "So you'll teach me?"

"Yes. Now go eat. You have a lot of work to do. I won't go easy on you."

"Understood!"

Jonna drilled Baldor relentlessly, instilling in him the discipline expected from an Imperial soldier. There were times wherein she would not let him sleep in her house. Instead, she would send him out into the harsh environment of the Jerall Mountains, with only a tent and a bedroll to keep him company. At the times wherein he did sleep in the house, he was expected to wake up in the wee hours of the morning and cook breakfast for both him and the General.

Despite the hell Jonna was putting Baldor through, the two grew on each other, and eventually became like a parent and child. Though she treated him harshly, she made sure that he wasn't overexerting himself; she tended to his wounds, and nursed him when he was ill. Baldor knew that even if Jonna was such a slavedriver at times, she still cared for him.

During his stay at the residence of the General, he became fast friends with her son, Marius, who was two years older than Baldor. They trained and sparred together, with the older child using his greater experience to help the orphan.

Ten years into Baldor's training with Jonna, tragedy struck.

As Jonna was exiting the Cathedral of Bruma, five armed men attacked her, stabbing her repeatedly on the steps of the Cathedral. People screamed and shouted for the guards, but there were none to be found. Eventually, the assailants walked away, going out of the city gates which were conveniently unguarded.

Baldor and Marius, now sixteen and eighteen respectively, were devastated by her death.

"Baldor," Marius started, "we're going to find the men responsible for this."

"We will. Your mother did not deserve to go out this way. We will find the men who did this, and-"

"And we'll kill them. Their bodies are going to be hung on the walls of Bruma."

Baldor, despite being surprised at his hateful words, could do nothing but agree.

The two boys swear vengeance on the pyre of their mother.

As Jonna was mentoring Baldor, Ulfric Stormcloak was serving his time in the Imperial City Prison, imprisoned due to his involvement in the Markarth Incident. He was seething; he kicked the Reachmen out of the City of Stone, and the Empire rewards him by bending to the will of the Thalmor? Has he not proven to the Imperials that the Nords are a strong people, ready to throw out those who oppose them?

In time, the Empire and their Elven overlords will see what happens when they make an enemy out of the Nords.

In the 191st year of the Fourth Era, 10 years after his imprisonment, and the same year Jonna was assassinated, Ulfric Stormcloak was released. He came back to see a city full of grief and sorrow, for his father, Jarl Hoag, had just died, his body having just been buried. Ulfric himself had not been allowed to attend the funeral, having had to smuggle his eulogy out of prison. As Ulfric prepared to sit himself on the throne of his ancestors, he addressed the people who have gathered in the Palace of the Kings:

"Citizens of Windhelm! I stand here before you as a man humbled by ten unjust years of imprisonment by an Empire which has fallen so low as to submit to the demands of the Elves! I share your grief at the passing of the great Jarl Hoag, whose name made his friends cheer and his enemies cower. But the Empire, with their puppet emperor seated on the Ruby Throne, has denied me, Hoag's only son, from attending his beloved father's funeral! This is a great injustice! Twenty-one years have passed since that fateful war which has seen our kinsmen bleed on foreign soil in a foreign war, and for what? The abandoning of Talos and our proud Nordic traditions? This is an insult to the Nords, an insult to the soul of Skyrim, an insult to all of Mankind! We will not yield to the yoke of the Thalmor. We will not yield to the yoke of the Empire. The Nords will not yield! But now, the task of being your leader falls on to me. I only wish that I can prove myself worthy of the throne of Hoag, of Ysgramor. O mighty Ysgramor, who drove the malicious Elves out of Skyrim, how I aspire to live up to your name! Soon, all of Tamriel will see that us Nords are a proud and strong people. If need be, I will march right to the gates of Alinor and show the Elves the strength of Man. But for now, we Nords will bide our time, waiting for the right moment to rise up and declare our freedom. The people of Skyrim will not be slaves!"

And the people of Windhelm cheered, for they felt in their hearts that Ulfric Stormcloak would lead them to greatness.


	3. The King is dead, long live the King!

Jonna's funeral was a quiet one, attended only by Baldor, Marius, and a few veterans from the Fourteenth Legion, which the late general commanded. The Count of Bruma, despite rumors of him and Jonna being romantically involved earlier in their lives, did not see her off, choosing to have his steward attend in his stead. This move however, angered Marius to no end.

"Count Carvain did not even bother to show up to the general's funeral?" Marius asked Roa, the count's steward.

"The count has other things to attend to young Marius. Running a county is harder than it looks." the older man sternly replied. Roa, who was the former captain of the guard, was a large man whose silk robes did not hide his muscular frame. "Besides," he started, "while she was a respectable woman, the problem of bandits in the county is only growing worse."

"And what is the count doing? Sitting in his chair waiting for news whether the bandits have been cleared out?"

The steward's eye twitched, his patience having grown thin. "Well whatever he is doing, it is certainly more important than-"

"Lord Roa," Marius interrupted, barely stopping himself from drawing his sword, "choose your next words carefully for they may well be your last."

"Brother, this is not the time nor the place to start an argument," Baldor finally spoke in an attempt to calm Marius down. "Remember that our mother's remains are still to be buried. We are disrespecting her by fighting over her grave. Lord Roa, my brother was only defending the honor of our mother. Please do not ruin this occasion by speaking ill of the dead." The two feuding men took a quick look at the coffin, then agreed to stay quiet.

After Jonna's remains were laid to rest, Marius and Baldor returned home and pondered on the future. Not speaking a word to each other that night, the two slept immediately.

Baldor's sleep was broken as Marius shook him awake, sword drawn. His clothes were bloody, and his cheek had a deep cut. "Get up brother! There are armed men in the house. I managed to kill one in my room but there seem to be more of them downstairs. Get your sword!"

Baldor, confused at what was happening, took his sword from its resting place by his bedside. The moment he drew his weapon, the door to his room was kicked down, revealing five armed men in the hallway. Immediately, the thugs charged at the two brothers. A quick battle ensued, with the brothers emerging victorious, albeit worse for the wear. Hearing sounds from downstairs, Marius offered to stand guard out in the hallway in order to give Baldor time to equip his armor. Fortunately, none of the would-be assassins decided to go up the stairs and check on their comrades.

Once Baldor was done, the two headed downstairs, only to be met by four men in iron armor. A larger man stood amongst them, clad in steel armor and wielding a battle axe, a helmet covering his features. The three smaller men charged at the brothers, but due to the skill of the two, none of thugs' attacks hit their targets. Baldor struck out, beheading one of them, while Marius dispatched the other two with ease.

The large man, however, proved a more difficult opponent. He tackled Baldor with his shoulder, knocking him down. Turning his attention to Marius, he swung his battle axe strong enough to disarm the smaller man. Dodging the large man's attacks, Marius tripped on one of the dead thugs' bodies, causing him to fall down. "I've been waiting for this moment for such a long time." the large man said in a familiar voice. "Say hello to your mother for me whelp!"

As the large man was lifting his axe up, Baldor swung his sword at him, embedding it into his back. The man's scream was cut short as Baldor plunged his sword through his neck, killing him.

"Baldor," Marius started. "That voice belonged to-" "Yeah," he glanced at the corpse, "Roa."

"That bastard! I knew that he couldn't be trusted." Marius was fuming. "Damn it. Baldor, this means that we're now wanted men in Bruma. The count will send even more meafterer us. We can't stay here."

"I know. I've decided to head north. To Skyrim. I need to get stronger. I can't have the people around me die anymore."

"Skyrim?" Marius looked at him oddly. "Come with me to the capital instead Baldor. Deaths like our mother's can't keep happening. I'm going to curry favor with the Emperor."

"I'm sorry brother, but I cannot."

Marius could see in Baldor's eyes that he believed that his path lay in the north. He knew that there was no convincing him. "So be it," Marius sighed. "Let's get out of here."

The two brothers, after gearing up for their respective journeys, burned the house of their childhood down in order to ensure that no information would reach their enemies.

At the gates of the city of their youth, the two brothers, unrelated by blood, embraced, and headed off in different directions, not expecting to see each other ever again.

In the northern province of Skyrim, a death disturbed the peace which it has settled into: Istlod, High King of Skyrim, has died. Since the late High King's son Torygg was considered an inexperienced child by some members of the nobility, the jarls convened a Moot in order to debate on who will take the crown.

The jarls of Skyrim proceeded to make their way to Solitude, the province's capital. Idgrod, Jarl of Hjaalmarch, was first to arrive, mumbling about how she already knew what the result of the election will be. Igmund, Jarl of the Reach, was next, followed by Dengeir, the grizzled Jarl of Falkreath. Balgruuf, the wise Jarl of Whiterun, arrived together with Jarl Laila of the Rift. Skald, the bitter Jarl of the Pale, arrived on a ship with Korir, the young Jarl of Winterhold. Last came Ulfric, Jarl of Eastmarch and the one who called for the Moot, who entered the city gates with his entourage the night before the Moot.

They were all to be received by the fledgling Jarl Torygg. The young Jarl of Solitude was afraid. After all, this was the first thing he was to do as a jarl. As he lay in bed, he turned towards his wife, Elisif. "My love, are you still awake?"

Elisif's eyes fluttered open. "I'm afraid I've already gone to sleep, my love." Torygg chuckled. "Then who does this lovely voice I am hearing belong to? I do not believe that there can be a fairer woman than my Elisif the Fair!"

"You cad." she blinked at him playfully, but her expression immediately fell. "You're nervous for tomorrow aren't you? In truth, the thing keeping me awake is my worry for you."

Torygg sighed. "I'm afraid that I might just be an embarassment in the eyes of the jarls. After all, if I was more experienced, then this moot wouldn't be happening."

"Oh Torygg. You are your father's son. You are the rightful heir to the throne. Do not fret, my love. Let us visit the chapel tomorrow."

Though unconvinced at her words, Torygg was still appreciative. "Thank you for your encouragement, my lady. Please try to get some sleep."

As Elisif slept, Torygg lay awake, thinking about the day to come.

On the day of the Moot, the jarls gathered in the throne room of the Blue Palace, with seats prepared for each of them. The throne lay empty, with Torygg choosing to sit with the jarls as he has not yet been chosen to be the High King.

"I would like to start this off by asking why there are Thalmor and Imperial agents present at this Moot," Ulfric, the upstart Jarl of Eastmarch said. "After all, the election of our High King is a Nordic matter is it not? What business do they have here?"

"It is just a formality, Jarl Ulfric." replied Idgrod. "Elenwen and Tullius here are simply here to observe."

"I hope this 'formality' does not change how we vote." grumbled Skald the Elder. Igmund chuckled. "Was there anything funny in what I said Jarl Igmund?" Skald asked, clearly irritated. Igmund smirked, "Well I hope your age does not affect how your bladder Jarl Skald. We may be here for a long time yet."

Infuriated, the Jarl of the Pale stood up and pointed at Igmund. "Listen here pup! One more word out of you and you'll lose your tongue and your head!"

"Be still, Skald." said Balgruuf. "I believe that we have an election to discuss. Jarl Igmund, I must request that you keep unnecessary comments to yourself for the time being. You would not want to lose your ability to speak now would you?" Balgruuf glared at Igmund. Seeing that the other jarls were not amused at his antics, Igmund stayed quiet. "That's better."

The jarls of Skyrim talked amongst themselves, playing a delicate game wherein each of them were looking after their own interests. One misstep in the game could spell ruin for the jarl's plans for the years to come. There were two prevailing opinions on who should be the next High King. It was either to let Torygg, the inexperienced yet cautious Jarl of Solitude, take the throne, or Ulfric, the experienced yet reckless Jarl of Windhelm.

An hour into the discussions, Ulfric stood up and took the floor. "Though we are in the presence of First Emissary Elenwen and General Tullius, I would like to once again reiterate that this Moot is a strictly Nordic matter, and that Skyrim is its own kingdom within the Empire. However, the status quo must not remain. Skyrim's status within the Empire has become untenable. While we are no doubt thankful for the aid the Empire has given us in the ages past, I do believe that it is time for our people to leave the nest. Yes, I am proposing independence for Skyrim and her people. I do hope that the Empire will recognize Skyrim's right to self-determination. The Empire and the Aldmeri Dominion will eventually see us as equals on Nirn, just as destiny dictates. That is all I have to say. Thank you for listening." Ulfric bowed and returned to his seat.

Murmurs of surprise, and both loud agreements and disagreements went around the room. Torygg looked at Ulfric in disbelief. Was he so dedicated to Skyrim that he would speak of outright independence in the presence of both the Empire and the Dominion? Out of the corner of his eye, however, Torygg saw the Imperial general Tullius scowling. To his surprise, the Aldmeri representative Elenwen was smirking.

"Well then, shall we get to the nominations?" Dengeir, Jarl of Falkreath, spoke up after hours of discussion. "We have been dancing around it for too long." The other jarls nodded in agreement. "Very well. I nominate Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." This motion surprised no one. Ulfric bowed his head in gratitude. "It is an honor to be considered for the position of High King. Thank you, Jarl Dengeir."

Not wasting any time, Igmund, Jarl of Markarth, piped up. "I think we all know who should be the next High King. I nominate Torygg, Jarl of Solitude." Even if he was expecting to be nominated, Torygg was surprised. After all, having the wealth of Cidhna Mine at his back was no small thing. Torygg bowed his head graciously. "It is an ho-" "Save the theatrics." Idgrod interrupted. "Let's get the voting over with already." "But Jarl Idgrod," Laila, Jarl of Riften, spoke up. "We haven't even finished the nominations yet. Surely we must at least wait for everyone to finish?" "Well, no one else is going to nominate a candidate. Unless you have somehow have something to add Jarl Law-Giver?" The Jarl of Riften's mouth twitched.

It was clear that the tension in the room was rising. Torygg's eyes flitted between the jarls. "Now that the nominations are done, I believe it is time for a recess to give everyone time to think about their decision?" Torygg said in a bid to defuse the situation. Idgrod and Laila stared at him, their attention drawn away from each other. The Jarl of Whiterun smirked at Torygg's quick thinking. "Yes, I believe we must think about it." Balgruuf replied. "Will all the Jarls be alright with meeting again in an hour?" Despite the grumbles of some of the jarls, they all eventually stood up and left the meeting place.

As Torygg stood up to get some air, Balgruuf stopped him. "You've got a good head on your shoulders Jarl Torygg. The way you handled that situation is a good indication that you'd be a good High King."

Torygg's eyes widened in surprise at what Balgruuf was saying. "You think I'd be a good High King Jarl Balgruuf?" The older jarl chucked. "You may not be as physically imposing or as authoritative as your father, but I can see in you a great potential to be an even greater High King. You're quick-witted, and you seem to have a great love for our kingdom despite its bickering jarls. The mark of a good leader is when he is willing to risk his life for his kingdom, for his people." Balgruuf placed his hand on the young jarl's shoulders. "You'll be a great man yet Torygg."

At those words, Torygg found the confidence he needed to face the rest of the jarls. He chuckled. "You've given me more reassurance in one conversation than my wife has ever since my father died. Are you interested in becoming the High Queen of Skyrim?" Torygg smirked. "And it seems that you have lost your father's humor!" Balgruuf laughed. "Come here, let's go back to the throne room."

"Are we all here?" Torygg looked around. "Let us begin the voting. General Tullius, First Emissary Elenwen, feel free to observe."

Balgruuf was the first to raise his hand. "Whiterun stands with Torygg! He has shown himself to be a worthy candidate."

Igmund was next, his demeanor completely changing from earlier. "The Reach stands with Torygg! Markarth still suffers from what Ulfric has brought down on us!"

Skald stood up, gesturing his wrinkled arm towards the Jarl of Windhelm. "The Pale stands with Ulfric! Dawnstar will only benefit with him as High King."

After Skald sat down, Laila raised her hand. "The Rift stands with Torygg! Ulfric's actions may cause unnecessary friction with the Empire, and that is something Riften cannot have."

Korir's hand rose. "Winterhold stands with Ulfric! Skyrim has had enough of the meddling of the elves and the Imperials!"

Dengeir's large hand shot up. "Falkreath stands with Ulfric! He has shown time and time again that he is worthy of becoming the High King. He is unafraid of standing up for Skyrim," he then gestured at Torygg, "which I am not sure this one will do."

All eyes turned to Idgrod, who earlier stated that she knew who the High King would be. Her mouth formed into a crooked slash of a smile. It was her vote which would change the fate of Skyrim. "Hjaalmarch," she started, "stands with Torygg. Congratulations Torygg, High King of Skyrim."

General Tullius breathed a sigh of relief, happy that Ulfric was not elected High King. His elven counterpart stared at the proceedings with contempt, though Tullius unclear whether she got what she wanted or not.

"All hail High King Torygg! Long live the High King!"

As the jarls pledged their fealty to him one by one, Ulfric was burning with righteous anger, believing that he and Skyrim were cheated out of their proper placec in the world. His eyes flicked towards the Imperial and the Altmer watching the Nords squabble. Their time will come.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, do you pledge fealty to me as Jarl of Windhelm?" Ulfric knelt down and looked at Torygg in the eye. "I, Ulfric Stormcloak, as Jarl of Windhelm, do hereby pledge my sword and my shield to the High King. Eastmarch stands with the High King."

Ulfric's eyes burned with anger. In time, it will be the other jarls who will be kneeling to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been more than a month since I uploaded Chapter 1, so I apologize for the wait! A mixture of college, writer's block, and a lack of motivation really pushed back me working on this. Good news is, I have the fic planned all the way until Chapter 35 already. If properly motivated, I can upload a chapter hopefully once a week. Thank you for reading, and I do hope you stick around!


	4. Jorrvaskr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baldor makes a friend on his journey, which leads him to the city of Whiterun.

Baldor's journey north was painful.

Though he was a skilled enough warrior to fend off the regular threats which harassed Skyrim-bound travellers, such as wolves, goblins, and bandits, he could not prepare himself for what was up ahead.

As he passed Dragonclaw Rock, he knew that he was nearing the Pale Pass, where his parents were murdered. It was here that his life begun a new chapter, wherein he lost his parents but was taken in by another family. Now however, even they were gone, as the brother that he grew up with was now miles away. For once in his life, Baldor was truly alone. 

Approaching the entrance to the Pale Pass, Baldor steeled himself for what was to come. His eyes constantly watched his surroundings, even as a snowstorm raged on. Not wanting to risk being spotted by bandits, he neither lit a torch nor started a fire. He trudged north, wanting to get out of the pass that has haunted him his entire life.

In time, the snowstorm subsided, and the sun's rays once again shone through the clouds. Despite a day's worth of marching, Baldor kept going, his eyes drooping as exhaustion was catching up to him. As he walked along the winding road north, he heard a woman's voice come from in front of him.

"Hail traveler!" an unfamiliar voice called out to him. "Did you walk through that blizzard alone? You must be either brave or crazy."

Baldor stared at the woman blankly. She seemed to be in her mid-twenties, and wore a fur cloak under which she had studded armor. Beside her was a campsite, complete with a campfire and a tent. After a brief moment of silence, she spoke again.

"Definitely crazy." she chuckled. "Come here," she beckoned him to come to her. "You seem a few minutes away from freezing to death. Here, take a rest."

Baldor sat down by the fire across from her. Immediately as he sat down, she spoke to him. "I'm Uthgerd. Where are you going kid?" she offered her hand to him. He shook her hand hesitantly. "Baldor." He paused. Now that he's in Skyrim, what does he plan to do? He didn't really have a place to call home back in Winterhold as his parents sold their old house. He sighed. "In all honesty, I do not know where to go. My only goal was to make it in to Skyrim."

"Well if that's the case, come with me to Whiterun. I'm looking for work there, and considering that it's the center of Skyrim, I'm sure we can find some jobs here and there. You know what they say: 'All roads lead to Whiterun.'"

Though he was reluctant to go with Uthgerd, after all, no one would trust a stranger immediately, Baldor agreed to go to Whiterun with her.

Though it took another day, only stopping at the town of Helgen since Baldor had neither eaten nor slept ever since he entered the Pale Pass, their journey to Whiterun was rather uneventful. After passing through a village called Riverwood, they found themselves on a ridge overlooking the vast central plain of Skyrim, upon which sat the great city of Whiterun.

They arrived at the city at dusk, and headed straight for the inn. A sign stood outside the inn, announcing to the world its name: the Bannered Mare. Upon entering, they were greeted by the innkeeper, Hulda.

"Come on in. Let me know if you need anything, or take a seat by the fire and I'll send someone over."

Baldor and Uthgerd approached the counter and asked for a room. Hulda took a look at the two of them and winked. "Will it be two rooms or a room for two?" Neither of them spoke. The innkeeper gulped. "Well uh," Hulda scratched the back of her head awkwardly. "I assume it's the first one then."

The next day, Baldor learned a few things about Uthgerd over breakfast; she's lived twenty-six winters, she came from the Imperial City wherein she fought in the arena, and she went to Skyrim in order to look for work. "Speaking of work," Uthgerd said as she was chewing some spiced beef. "you could come with me to join the Companions if you'd like. I heard that they're some of the greatest warriors in Skyrim. They're based right here in Whiterun."

"Greatest warriors huh." Baldor thought. This was his chance to get stronger, and to get some money on top of that. "Alright," he gulped down the last of his stew. "Let's go."

Situated right next to the majestic tree called the Gildergreen was Jorrvaskr, the oldest building in Whiterun and the home of the Companions. Behind it was the Skyforge, said to be older than the elves themselves.

Upon entering, Baldor and Uthgerd were greeted with sounds of merriment and the harsh smell of mead. Wherever they looked they saw warriors drinking or brawling. As Baldor was scanning the room, his eyes landed on one man who, unlike the others, just watched his comrades enjoy themselves. As soon as Baldor pointed the man out, Uthgerd approached him.

"Excuse me, are you the leader of the Companions? I'm looking for work."

The middle-aged man stared at her. It was as if he was staring right into Uthgerd's soul. Before the man opened his mouth, Baldor already knew his answer. "No."

Uthgerd's face twisted in annoyance. "No?" She gathered her thoughts, and her face returned to her usual expression. "Did you mean that you're not the leader or that you can't provide work?"

"No," the man repeated. "I am not the leader of the Companions, though they look to me for guidance. I am Kodlak Whitemane, and I will not give our work to hotheads like you."

As if the entire mead hall could feel the tension, everyone stopped and stared at Uthgerd and the man.

"Hey Uthgerd," Baldor whispered to her. "I think you should drop i-"

"Hothead?" she interrupted. "I'll show you hot headed. If I could beat one of your so-called 'warriors' in combat, you have to let me in. Unless, none of you milk drinkers dare fight me. Ha!"

Everyone in the room was now glaring at her. The man remained implacable however. Uthgerd was about to challenge the man when a voice cried out from the crowd.

"I challenge you!"

All eyes then turned to the challenger. A young whelp of a lad, hardly old enough to grow his first chin-hairs. Uthgerd smirked. "This is going to be easy," she thought. Kodlak's brows furrowed in worry. He walked towards the young man. "Skral, give your all, but know your limits. When you know the tide is turning against you, do not hesitate to yield." He then turned to the others. "We are taking this to the yard."

His eyes then turned to Baldor. "Do you also wish to join the Companions?" Baldor nodded. "Yes, I do." The man then took a deep breath. "So be it. Skjor! Test this man's mettle. Afterwards, we will watch the challenger's duel with Skral."

Outside on the training grounds, Baldor looked at the man who would be testing him. An intimidating man, he was blind in his left eye, presumably from the wound which also gave him a nasty scar on his cheek.

"Come at me!" the man named Skjor said. "Show me what you've got!" He raised his shield and put his legs apart in a defensive stance.

Baldor brought down his sword upon the shield repeatedly, but his opponent was steadfast in his defense. Thinking quickly, Baldor brought his sword up to strike again, but he instead tackled the shield with his shoulder, knocking Skjor off balance. He then raised his sword inches away from Skjor's throat. The older man chuckled, then put his hands up to yield. "Not bad kid."

The audience cheered. Uthgerd grinned at Baldor, giving him a pat on the back when he went towards her. "I'm up next." she said as her opponent walked towards the place where Skjor once stood.

The two opponents faced each other. Baldor made eye contact with Uthgerd. She smirked at him, then nodded. He could already tell what she was thinking: "This will be over in a few seconds."

Immediately, the two charged at each other, hoping to land a blow. Though her opponent was faster, Uthgerd was obviously stronger. If she lands one hit, the battle will be over. However, her opponent was very skilled. He blocked her attacks over and over, much to her anger.

His brothers and sisters cheering him on, the young man was getting complacent. "Damn it all!" shouted Uthgerd. Her arms were getting tired, and she was breathing heavily. "I have to end this." she thought. Continuing her onslaught of attacks against her opponent, she eventually noticed a weakness in his defenses. Though it was very slightly, he winced whenever he put too much weight on his left leg.

Taking advantage of this observation, she forced her opponent back with a few well placed strikes. Raising her sword up high, the man put up his shield to meet it. However as her sword hit the shield, she kicked his left leg, causing him to cry out in pain. His guard down, she once again brought down her sword, finally landing a blow on her opponent, causing him to fall to the ground.

Ecstatic that she finally brought down her opponent, she looked at Baldor. To her surprise, his eyes did not have a look of pride, but of horror, which was etched on to the face of every single member of the audience.

Confused at what was going on, she looked back at her opponent, only to see him convulsing on the ground in a puddle of blood. She had completely forgotten that this was not a real fight. Her blow had cut diagonally through his shoulder, stopping right after the sword cut his windpipe. It was only a matter of time before he drowned in his own blood.

"Murderer!" one of the Companions cried. They all drew their weapons and went towards her. However, they were stopped by Kodlak.

"Enough blood has been shed this day shield-siblings." Kodlak said in a stern, albeit sad, voice. He then approached the body on the ground. The boy was still clinging on to consciousness. "We'll see each other again in Sovngarde brother." He then held his hand until he expired.

Kodlak's eyes then turned to Uthgerd, whose eyes were still wide with shock and disbelief. It was clear that she had not meant to kill Skral. He felt pity for her.

"Uthgerd was it?" He asked. She focused on Kodlak. His eyes were burning with anger, as if a wolf had just lost a member of its pack. However, his voice remained steady. "A person who has no control over themselves has no place in Jorrvaskr. As suh, I must ask you to leave our grounds and never return. I'm sure either Jarl Balgruuf or Hulda will have something for you to do. Now go and leave."

As she was leaving, Baldor tried to approach her, but she only slapped his hand away. He watched as she disappeared into the city. When they knew she wouldn't be coming back, the Companions wrapped up Skral's body and took it into Jorrvaskr.

"Now it comes to the matter of you, lad." Kodlak turned his attention to Baldor. "What is your name?"

"My name is Baldor, sir."

"Sir? Ha!" the older man laughed. "I'm no more a sir than you are. I can see that your heart has valor. You have also proven yourself worthy in battle." Kodlak extended his arm to Baldor, who shook his hand.

"Welcome to the Companions. Farkas! Show our new member around."

Farkas, despite being a large brute of a man, was surprisingly very friendly. As he was showing Baldor around, he gave him tips as to how to survive being a Companion.

"I hope we keep you. The world hasn't been treating us well these days."

The true meaning of those words however, flew right over Baldor's head. He thought it was just referring to Skral's death earlier that day. Losing someone was always rough after all.

For the next few years, Baldor fought and drank with the Companions. He was in Jorrvaskr hearing the tales of when Kodlak and Skjor came back after allegedly killing one-hundred and one Orc berserkers (Skjor claims there were actually "only" forty), or when Farkas and Vilkas saved the life of High King Torygg from a group of assassins, or when Aela earned Hircine's favor by chasing down a white stag in the middle of the night. There was never a dull moment at Jorrvaskr.

The Companions were more than just a group of warriors who loved fighting and drinking. They were a family… who loved fighting and drinking. It was whenever they shared stories over an open fire, with his brothers and sisters eating, drinking, or fighting all around him when Baldor felt most at peace.

It was in the 199th year of the Fourth Era, eight years after he joined the Companions, that he realized that that was what Farkas' words actually meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Skyrim! Expect another chapter next week! Next stop: Windhelm.


	5. Provocation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Thalmor arrive in Windhelm. Jarl Ulfric retaliates.

Footsteps echoed throughout the halls of the Thalmor Embassy. First Emissary Elenwen had called for a meeting of all the Thalmor officers in her solar. The guards talked amongst themselves, trying to guess as to what the First Emissary had in mind.

As soon as the last of the officers entered her solar, Elenwen started giving out orders.

"I assume you all know why I gathered you all here, so I will keep this short. Ondolemar, lead a team of justiciars to Windhelm. You have free reign as to how to achieve our goals there. Ancano, go to the College in Winterhold. Our presence there will further ostracize them in the eyes of the populace, driving the College into our hands. Valmir, maintain your agents in Falkreath and Riften. That will be all. Dismissed."

With a wave of her hand, the officers left the room in an orderly manner. Immediately, Ancano asked for an escort and departed the embassy for Winterhold.

"Well there goes that stick in the mud." Valmir chuckled.

"His arrogance is unbearable." Ondolemar rolled his eyes. "Either way Valmir, it looks like we're taking the same road east. Let's go." Taking a group of eight justiciars with them, Ondolemar and Valmir left the embassy.

"Our paths separate here Ondolemar." Valmir said upon their party's arrival at Whiterun. "Best of luck with your mission."

After spending a night at Whiterun, Ondolemar continued on to Windhelm. Seeing a statue of Talos overlooking the city, he and his group of justiciars approached it.

"Look upon this city of men and despair you false god." he said mockingly. "Soon, all of this will belong to us, and what will you do?" Ondolemar paused, giving the statue time to answer. After a few seconds with no answer forthcoming, he once again spoke. "Exactly. Nothing. Nothing can stop us." He turned to his fellow justiciars. "We make camp here. You three, stand guard. The other two, follow me."

The arrival of the Thalmor at Windhelm's gates was met with fear and trepidation by the city's populace. Jarl Ulfric was a known Talos worshiper. What were they going to do to him?

Heading straight for their objective, they entered the Palace of the Kings without even asking for an audience with the jarl. Upon seeing them, Ulfric dropped all pretense of friendliness and greeted them coldly.

"What is the meaning of this interruption? I don't recall asking for the Thalmor." Ulfric said to the newcomers. "You must be bearing an important message for the jarl, as you entered without requesting an audience." Jorleif, Ulfric's steward, remarked. To the side, Galmar Stone-Fist, Ulfric's right-hand man, glared at the Thalmor.

"Greetings Jarl Ulfric. I would like to inform you that due to some troubling reports of Talos worshipers in the city, the Thalmor would be establishing an official presence in Windhelm."

Ulfric's eye twitched. "Under whose authority?"

Ondolemar procured a letter from his coat and handed it over to Ulfric. "First Emissary Elenwen sent us here with permission from your High King. After all, High King Torygg is still a law-abiding citizen of the Empire."

Without even glancing at the paper which was being given to him, Ulfric took the letter and ripped it in half. The justiciars drew their weapons, with Galmar, Jorleif, and the palace guards following suit.

"I am asking you again. Under whose authority?"

"First Emissary Elenwen-"

Ulfric raised his hand to interrupt him. "Look around you elf. You stand in the Palace of the Kings, in the city built by Ysgramor himself over the bones of your kind. It is not the authority of elves which rule here but of man! And certainly Ysgramor would not want us to bow to the whims of a boy-king on the payroll of a disgraced empire. Now I ask you, does Elenwen have any authority in this city of man?"

The Thalmor agent's brows furrowed in anger. "You talk so highly for someone ruling over a backwater hovel. It was not you who won the War, but us. It was not the Dominion who asked for peace, but it was your Empire. It was not the Thalmor who submitted to the White-Gold Concordat, but your Emperor! So do not speak to me as if we are equals!"

Ondolemar drew his weapon and readied a spell, only for him to be blown across the room. Immediately, Galmar struck a justiciar down, with Jorleif driving his dagger through the other. The palace guards then surrounded Ondolemar.

Recovering from the attack which knocked him down, Ondolemar found himself surrounded. Thinking quickly, he cast chain lightning on the guards surrounding him, incapacitating them. Before Galmar could get to him, he turned invisible and left the city.

"This is an outrage!" Galmar shouted as he took his battle axe out of the justiciar's corpse. "Ulfric, we must take the fight to the Thalmor and the Empire. Our so-called High King has let them run free in Skyrim."

"I must agree with Galmar, my Jarl." Jorleif said. "You can use this incident to gather support among the other jarls. Imagine how the jarls would react now that one of their own has been attacked by the Thalmor. Scores of Nords would be flocking to your banner!"

Ulfric sat on his throne in deep thought. While taking the fight to the Thalmor will be easy, this will inevitably bring in the Empire. Once the Imperials arrive, the jarls would follow them and Torygg. Unless… 

"I appreciate the advice my friends." Ulfric stood up and walked towards the doors of the palace. "Jorleif, prepare my things. Galmar, gather fifty of your best men. We are going to Solitude."

Ondolemar sported a wicked grin as he arrived back at the encampment. Despite the injuries and the humiliation he has suffered at the hands of Ulfric, he knew that he had done what he had to do.

"O mighty Talos," Ondolemar said in mock prayer as he looked upon the statue of the god he did not believe in. "Please smite the enemies of Skyrim!" The remaining justiciars laughed. "Look at this world, you false god. Watch as the last embers of man flicker away."

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> This is the very first time I am writing a fic. As in I have 0 experience.
> 
> As you can tell from the chapter title, this is only the prologue of a story which I hope I will be working on for a very long time.
> 
> Please try to leave constructive criticism in the comments, and feel free to ask questions as to where the story will be going!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!


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